


the words we used to say

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, I cried writing this, Teenager AU, based off of hold each other, first person POV, song fic sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16204580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: Bobbi Morse is seventeen, full of dreams, and in love with Jemma Simmons.Until she isn't.





	the words we used to say

I miss the words we used to say. 

You used to silently trace 'I love yous' on my back every morning when you thought I was asleep, the golden sunlight hitting your hair through my bedroom window. You used to bury your head into my shoulder, counting it as the only place that you truly felt safe from the rest of the world. I’d count the freckles dotted across the back of your neck, flushed red from my blasting furnace that my dad had never gotten around to fixing.  _ But it’s one of the perks of having an attic room,  _ you’d said, swiping away the frizzles of your long, honeyed hair as you struggled to put it into a ponytail.  _ No one ever remembers you’re there.  _

I used to admire you then, in those moments of peace, where the world had narrowed down to no one but the two of us. When the morning sun would, at just the right moments, hit the window and gleam off of you, making my heart swell even more. You used to catch me staring, turn away, and ask me what I was looking at. 

My answer was always the same.  _ You.  _

I used to get lost in your warm, brown eyes, used to have tears well up in my own as you were in my arms, feeling your head tuck right into my chin as we curled up on my bed. More often than not, you’d be in my arms ready to burst into tears, complete with sobs and whimpers that tore me right in two. 

I used to be your home away from home, you’d once told me,  _ because home didn’t really feel like home anymore.  _

We used to pretend that we didn’t exist in tandem to the rest of the world, hiding away in my room like no one would be able to find us. It was there we used to let our guard down, stripping away facades and fronts like paint peeling from a wall. It was there, I think, that you used to be the freest, your laugh lifting me up to euphoria. 

It was then and there, in that room filled with plush rugs, beanbags and fairy lights amid all of my wooden furniture, that we ceased to be an  _ them,  _ creating an  _ us  _ that was unspoken. Not what people saw us as, not what people wanted us to be, and certainly not what we were forced to be. 

It seemed like you’d been away from home--your  _ real  _ home--one too many times. I’ll never forget the day my bedroom door nearly flew off of its hinges, her fury tangible as she marched up to us, yanking you out of my arms and marching you forcibly towards the door, all the time screaming about how you’d violated God’s will and how you were going straight to confession. I missed your warmth as soon as you left, and I tossed and turned that night, craving you next to me. (I tried holding the stuffed Nemo you got me three months ago at the state fair. It was close, but not quite.) I looked awful at school the next day--and not seeing you only made it worse. 

Your sister Skye called me that next night, taking pity on my disappointed voice when your name lit up my phone, only to find out it was her. She snuck me into your backyard an hour later, that night when you broke down in my arms, wailing about how you were forbidden to see me again. It was the most fragile I’d ever seen you, and I splintered apart with every syllable you sniffled, tore apart with every tear. 

I didn’t think this separation would last forever. After all, it was  _ us.  _ We were invincible. Nothing could keep us from each other. You’d been with me from those confusing first days of preschool, and I was damned I’d hold you until graduation. In the grand scheme of things, what was this one rough patch when we had the rest of our lives?

So I comforted you, told you that your mom was simply on one of her tangents again, that the whole thing would blow over, and that sooner or later, everything would go back to the way it was before. I’d get to hold you once again, and you’d be happy, your smile lighting up my days. 

I didn’t know how wrong I was. 

I didn’t know that you wouldn’t even make it to next week, let alone graduation. 

I didn’t know that the next time I saw you, it would be while I was crouching over the mangled remains of a navy blue Lexus, the pouring rain blurring with my tears as I was forced to accept that yes, it was your body--the freckles on the back of your neck confirming that--and that I’d be willing to take responsibility for it because you’d been disowned by your entire family in the name of religion and that’s why you’d been out in a tropical storm, driving madly to my house to stay for the night when some other guy swerved into your lane and your brakes failed...

I didn’t know that your coffin would sear itself into my brain as I stood alone at the funeral home. My parents, bless them, had done everything they could, but not even they could replace the empty spot you left beside me. I didn’t know that white could be so haunting, that the color of purity could also represent the color of what I’d never have again. 

Skye came to see you at your grave. (She would’ve gone to the funeral, but your mother had locked her in the house when she learned what I’d done.) I found her there, curled up with her knees against her chest, quietly sobbing her frustrations out. She looked at me then, her mascara running in perfect streaks down her face. I could tell she was shouldering all of the guilt at your death, not being able to have saved her, not being able to have done anything, and to only be able to watch as I pulled the funeral arrangements together. It was something she  _ knew  _ she should’ve done, rather than sit in her room all day despite her mother’s orders. 

“You know she loved you, Bobbi,” she’d gasped out, and I could only nod mutely because  _ I knew.  _ Knew it in the words you’d traced on my back, knew it in every touch we shared. Despite you never having said it. I sat down beside her, and together, we stared at the grave, mourning in what we’d lost. Neither of us cried, but somehow, it was if we were. Eventually, Skye put her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped an arm around hers. It was strange to think that we were the only two people left in the world who cared about you, and yet, there we were. 

“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Skye whispered. 

“I know.” I whispered back, my eyes riveted to your grave. I’d chosen the quotation myself, loving how every time you said it, a mini laugh would bubble up from your throat, like you couldn’t help it because you loved it so much.

_ Jemma Simmons _

_ March 1997-November 2015 _

_ “Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.” -Friday Night Lights _

She’d lost Jemma, her sister. I’d lost  _ you _ , Jemma, and you were my best girl. 


End file.
